The Transall Saga (4 page)

chapter
11

The day’s scouting trip had taken him into strange new territory. The vegetation was still dense but it was more yellow than red and the trees were short and gnarled. The only animal he’d seen all day was deerlike. She was as big as a horse and had short curled horns. Two small spotted fawns were following her. When she saw Mark, she bounded away with her young close behind.

There had been no sign of the arrow people. Discouraged, Mark decided he must be wrong about them living in the mountains. The next day he would try a different direction.

Sitting down under one of the short leafless trees, he cracked open a tree rock. The forest here was dry, barren and ugly. He was glad he lived where he did. He laughed. He was home-proud. Some branches in a tree and he was proud of them.

He drank the brown juice and contemplated the thought. It was possible that he would never be able to find the light. So far he hadn’t really made any long-term plans because he considered all this temporary. But what if it wasn’t? What if he was destined to live in this primitive world the rest of his life?

A loud yell stopped his thoughts.

Mark jumped to his feet. A voice—the arrow people. He grabbed his weapons and waited.

Nothing.

Why hadn’t he been paying attention? He couldn’t tell how far away the voice was or which direction to search in.

The yell changed to an agonized scream. Someone was hurt. Mark started running. He raced through the brush toward the sound.

Just when he thought he’d lost the sound, the terrified scream came again. He tore through the forest, jumping over bushes and ducking under limbs.

He was on it almost before he realized it.

By crouching low in the brush he spotted what seemed to be a kind of dog or wolf. It was standing on its back legs and its head reached high into the low branches. The creature had its back to Mark and was clawing at something in the tree.

The Howling Thing. There was no doubt about it. It was huge, on its back legs at least as tall as Mark. The gray fur on its back was coarse and bushy, and long foamy gobs of saliva dripped from its mouth.

Something in the tree—Mark thought it was some kind of monkey—and partially hidden in the leaves was frantically trying to climb higher, but one arm hung limp and one leg was bloody. The Howling Thing was clawing it to death.

Without thinking, Mark took his single arrow and fitted it to his bow. He stepped out of the trees, aimed, drew and released all in one motion.

The shot was as good as he could hope for. It struck the Howling Thing in the center of the back but it wasn’t enough. The beast wheeled and came for him.

Mark stumbled backward, reaching for his spear. He wanted to run but his legs felt riveted to the ground.

The Howling Thing covered the space in three jumps and leaped, its weight carrying Mark back and down and slamming him into the ground. One second, Mark thought, my throat will be gone in a second. Everything ended.

It didn’t happen. He pushed out from under the heavy animal.

The Howling Thing was dead.

When it had lunged for him, Mark had instinctively raised the spear. The sharp point had gone through the animal’s heart, killing it instantly.

Blood ran down Mark’s face. He crawled to his feet, shaking, staring down. The giant mouth was open, exposing ferocious incisor teeth that would have ripped him to pieces. The claws were longer than bear claws, longer than Mark’s fingers.

He swallowed again. Close this time. Really close. If the spear hadn’t taken the animal directly in the heart, if the creature had had half a second longer, I would have been dead....

Mark suddenly remembered the Howling Thing’s victim and looked out across the clearing at the small tree.

It was empty.

chapter
12

Mark followed the trail of blood until it disappeared. Then he continued to patiently search for signs. The few tracks he found resembled small human footprints except for the toes, which seemed to be connected. From what he had seen in the tree, with everything blurred and moving, the small being had two arms and legs. The face had been hidden but he remembered seeing long dark hair.

The heavy grass kept him from finding any more tracks and the trail ended abruptly. The wounded quarry of the Howling Thing had vanished.

"That’s gratitude for you," Mark grumbled. He made his way back to the clearing. The Howling Thmg lay as he had left it.

It took some doing but he finally managed to twist his spear out of the body. The arrow was another matter. It was wedged next to the backbone, and when he yanked on it, the tip broke off inside the creature.

He studied the dead animal. It was incredible that he had survived the attack. The thing was huge and built to destroy whatever it pleased. A killing machine.

Yet he had killed it.

An elation filled him. A surge of something he could not define—a strange feeling of power. His chin went up. I saved a life today and didn’t die. I’ll make more arrows, better ones. And because of what I have, all the creatures in the forest will be afraid of me. He jumped to his feet and punched his fists in the air. He wanted to sing, to show what he had done, to tell of it.

"I am the killer of the ferocious Howling Thing," he chanted, stomping his feet in the dirt. "I—am—the— best. I—am—the—kilter—of—the—terrible—Howling— Thing."

He took his knife and sliced the long claws off all four of the animal’s paws and began whooping and dancing around the bloody carcass until he ran out of breath.

He would take the skin. He could use it for moccasins, a quiver, maybe clothing. He knelt and worked a full hour, peeling a rectangle of hide—about four feet by three—that took in the back and the sides, leaving the skin on the legs, head and feet.

With the skin gone the meat was exposed, and for the first time Mark thought of eating it. It seemed so doglike; the thought of eating dog was not particularly appetizing. But he’d been eating bugs and worms and lizards and the meat looked solid and dark. He cut strips to take back to camp to dry later.

Everything he had been through had made him even hungrier. When he found his supplies, he opened a tree rock and drank the juice while he chewed on strips of lizard jerky.

This place was not going to get the best of him. And if it was true that he might never find his way home, then he would make it anyway. He would become a better hunter and tracker and his weapons would be the best he could make.

Sooner or later he would locate the arrow people. But even if he couldn’t find them he would be all right.

He had killed the Howling Thing.

chapter
13

One tree rock after another slammed into his back.

"Stop it, Willie. I don’t want to play catch right now. Can’t you see I have work to do?" Mark had studied the way the feathers had been inserted into the carved slits in the broken arrow’s shaft and copied it. He had found straight wood—a kind of cross between willow and cane—near the clear pool and he used that for shafts.

He still had no rocks for the tips so instead he had sharpened the ends of the shafts into needle points.

There had been no scouting for four days. Mark had been too busy collecting bird feathers and finding just the right pieces of wood to form into arrows. When he wasn’t making them he was practicing shooting.

In the evenings, after scavenging for food, he had painstakingly put together a vine necklace made with the claws of the Howling Thing. He never took it off. The meat had been stringy and tough, but not bad tasting, and he’d roasted it on a stick and eaten it until his stomach bulged. He was still hungry in some way. Full, but still preoccupied with food, and he thought of bringing down one of the buffalo beasts.

Willie waddled over and crawled into his lap. Mark put down the arrow he was working on. "All right. Maybe I have enough—for now. I guess I have been kind of ignoring you lately. Come on. Let’s me and you take a walk up to the pool."

Mark patted his shoulder. This signal meant the monkey-bear was to climb up on his back. Willie’s long furry arms clung to Mark’s neck.

Leaving the dark jungle always made the little guy nervous, and the only way he would agree to go was if Mark carried him.

At the pool they stopped for a cool drink. Mark stared at himself in the water. He was so different. His hair hung down to his shoulders and his weapons and necklace made him look like an ancient warrior.

The chunky kid who had begged to hike across the missile range hadn’t really been in very good shape. But this kid, the one who stared up at him from the pool, was lean and tough. His forearms were thick and solid, corded with muscle. Now he could climb straight up any of the vines into the tops of the highest trees and even hang by one arm while he collected tree rocks. His senses were tuned and he was becoming a good hunter. The previous night’s dinner was proof of that. He’d had his first taste of roasted screaming bird, taken with an arrow high in one of the trees.

Mark watched Willie playing in the water on the other side of the pool. "How about going on a short scouting trip with me, boy? We won’t go far. I’ll have you back by supper, promise." He patted his shoulder and Willie ambled around the spring and easily jumped up on Mark’s back.

Mark walked for more than three miles in a direction he’d never had a chance to try before. The trees began to thin out and the hazy yellow sky was clearly visible. He had become so accustomed to the shade of the jungle that he had to squint to protect his eyes.

The grass only grew in patches here, and for the first time he could see large areas of ground. It was a lot like the dirt on Earth and he guessed that all planets were pretty much the same. What was it Carl Sagan had said? Oh yeah, we’re all made out of star stuff—carbons and acids and stone and gas. Dirt was dirt, whatever the planet.

He let it run through his fingers. The next day he would scout longer. Take his bow and quiver of arrows and spear and see what lay beyond the forest. Maybe take Willie with him for company. See how this planet worked.

chapter
14

"Come on I said I’d carry you. What’s
your problem?" Mark folded his arms and scowled at the monkey-bear in the tree house. Willie had climbed to the top branches and refused to be coaxed down.

"You are such a baby. Okay, fine." Mark picked up his weapons and food stores. "But don’t say I didn’t offer. You won’t see me for a couple of days."

Willie clicked and screamed and shook the branch hard.

"What’s with you? Do you know something about that part of the forest I don’t?"

The monkey-bear continued to shake the tree and make irritating noises.

Mark shrugged. "If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I killed the Howling Thing, remember? So just hold down the fort and I’ll be back." He turned and walked across the meadow. Willie’s clicking followed him until he was out of sight.

Heading in the same general direction he had taken the day before, Mark hurried through the forest. When he reached the thinning trees he slowed. There was not as much cover here and he would be a target for some enemy, like a buffalo creature.

He walked until late in the afternoon without stopping. For reasons he couldn’t explain he was extremely anxious to see what lay beyond the trees.

But food was a necessity. Finally he stopped to eat. He wanted to sit in the warm dirt and enjoy the feel of it on his skin, but he knew better. It wasn’t wise to stay out in the open. Instead he chose a spot in the shadow of a tree and ate a quick snack of a tree rock and a piece of jerky made from the meat of the Howling Thing.

A new sound came from overhead. Mark craned his neck and searched the leaves. A great bird with a round head like an owl was scolding him for using its tree.

Mark’s eyes narrowed. The feathers. They were the same red and black as the ones in the first arrow. The one made by the arrow people. Perhaps the people were close.

He started out again. Walking was easy. The tangled bushes and underbrush had gradually disappeared, taken over almost completely by red sand.

Dozens of large rabbit creatures similar to the one in his meadow jumped out ahead of him. They hopped on their hind legs like kangaroos and scurried into holes near the tree roots in the sand. Mark made a mental note of the new food source.

By dark he was wishing he had worked harder to figure out a way to carry water. The juice in the tree rocks was good but he had been moving quickly and had worked up a powerful thirst for pure water. He would just have to wait.

The day had ended before Mark was ready. He had hoped to find the edge of the forest by nightfall but the trees, though sparse now, seemed to go on forever. Unless it rained or he found water, he would have to go back the next day. Food wasn’t a problem. He could hunt, and he’d almost perfected starting a fire by hitting the back of his pocket knife against a rock he carried in his pocket. If he had the right tinder, sparks would fly into the dry leaves and start them blazing.

After smoothing the sand under one of the scrawny trees, he lay down and rested on his elbows. He chuckled, remembering when building a fire with matches had been difficult and without matches impossible. His father had taken him camping several years ago and they wound up spending the night huddled in cold sleeping bags because they had somehow let their matches get wet.

Thinking of his dad made him feel guilty. It had been five days since he had tried to locate the blue light. He shrugged it off. Making the arrows was important. Eating was important. Living was important. His parents would understand.

It was strange to be able to see the sky at night. Near the dark jungle the only thing you could see when you looked up was trees. The black was overpowering here and he realized that he missed seeing stars.

He lay back and stared into the darkness. Maybe the stars were up there but the ugly yellow haze was just hiding them.

He closed his eyes and imagined stars.

chapter
15

It was early morning. They moved within twenty yards of where he was lying. His eyes were open but he lay absolutely still, not wanting to give away his position.

There were five of them, uncovered from the waist up and obviously females. They were dressed in skins and their black hair hung long and loose. They were carrying large pots and made no effort to be quiet. One of them laughed loudly at something another said.

People, he thought. Planet people. Not so very different from Earth people.

When they were safely past, Mark moved to his feet, gathered his supplies and followed them carefully.

They took a well-beaten path, which he probably would have missed if he’d given up and turned back that day. Mark darted from one tree to the next, trying to remain hidden. Soon a vaguely familiar sound reached his ears.

Water. They walked to a small creek that wound its way through the sand and trees. Mark crept as close as he dared and watched.

The girls had dark, olive-colored skin and small eyes with an extra fold of skin on the lids. They spoke a strange clicking language. One walked with a limp and didn’t carry a pot. She knelt to drink from the trickling creek and Mark could see the soles of her feet. They had a thick padding, and all her toes were joined by a weblike covering.

When the pots were filled and the girls ready to go, Mark silently moved off the path. They passed right in front of him. Compared to him they were small, standing only about as high as the middle of his chest.

The girl with the limp was last. He got a good look at her injured leg. She had been severely wounded and the torn flesh was just beginning to heal.

Mark’s eyes widened. The wound looked as if she had been raked ... with claws. She had to be the one in the tree when he had killed the Howling Thing. He wanted to step out and call to her but was afraid he might startle them, so he held back.

He trailed them through the scraggly trees and sand into another dense stand of forest. It would have been hard to track them in these woods, but someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hack out a wide path.

The girls stopped to give their injured companion a chance to rest. She sat down on a stump in the middle of the path and waved them on. When they wouldn’t go, she said something sharp in the clicking language and waved again. This time they picked up their pots and moved down the trail.

Mark chewed his lip. He had to talk to this girl, but how? She wouldn’t understand him.

He waited, watching her, hoping to discover a clue. She was pretty in a strange way. Her skin was flawless, and except for her small eyes and flat, tumed-up nose she looked a lot like people from Earth.

Mark made his decision. Quietly he slipped out of the cover of the trees and stood on the trail in front of her.

She jumped to her feet, her eyes wide with fright. "Mawof Ta Ta Mawof." The girl was poised to run.

Mark stepped back. "I won’t hurt you. See." He set down his weapons and held up his hands. "I want to be your friend."

Her terrified eyes went to the claw necklace. "Kakon ne wat te!"

"That’s right." Mark touched the long claws. "I saved you. I killed the Howling Thing."

Down the trail they heard someone calling. "Lee-ta? Wak ta to ek?"

"Is that your name?" Mark asked. "Leeta?"

The girl stared at him. She had relaxed but still looked scared and confused. "Na to nuk. Na to nuk." She pointed into the forest, edged around him and hurried down the trail.

Mark hesitated. What should he do now? The girl had pointed into the trees. Why? What was she trying to tell him? He picked up his things. The trees could wait. Right now he wanted to see where Leeta and her friends were headed.

There was no danger of losing them. The trail was wider than most of the bike paths back home. He let them get far ahead and then started off. This area reminded him of his jungle except it had more colors. The plants and trees were not as red and the flowers had tinges of white, yellow and orange.

Eventually sounds of voices and movement came from just beyond the trees. Mark crept closer, lay on his stomach and watched in amazement. Before him, in a large clearing, was an entire village of huts made of sticks. Most were small and round except for the long one in the middle. Some women were roasting meat over an open pit and others were using sharp sticks to dig in a garden. Several children were running in and out, playing a game with a rock attached to a long vine. The men were carving with primitive stone tools or sitting around the fire smoking.

It was like a scene out of prehistoric times. The arrow people wore the skins of animals Mark didn’t recognize. There was nothing modem here, no metal tools or cooking utensils. Everything came from their surroundings and was fashioned by their own hands.

The girls took the water pots inside one of the huts. Leeta stayed outside and kept glancing nervously back toward the forest. An older woman spoke to her and she reluctantly went into the hut.

Mark waited a long time but Leeta didn’t come out. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He crawled back into the dense brush and sat on his heels. Now that he knew where the arrow people were he could come back anytime. And because the girls had shown him where the water was, he could stay in this area indefinitely.

First he would eat. Then he would plan how to meet the arrow people.